


Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love

by the_scent_of_your_memory



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sorry), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Gags, Heavy BDSM, I know I'm sorry, M/M, Nothing major though, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Rimming, SO, Safeword Fail, actually no, but i fixed it, for all the people for whom this is an actual issue, just to be clear, no, oh god there are so many, okay, slight mention of headspace, we were asked to tag everything, with tons of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_scent_of_your_memory/pseuds/the_scent_of_your_memory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He can’t pinpoint when it started, how it happened. When the need to strip away everything; the words, the need to push each other further and take each other in ways they’d never done before became almost necessary, essential. When all that is left is the two of them, just feeling each other, and nothing more. </em><br/> </p><p>[or, a non AU smutty pwp in which there is far too much angst to be considered healthy.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hunnybunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunnybunny/gifts).



> okay, so. I'd start with--I'M SORRY!
> 
> you lovely person explicitly asked for fluff and unicorns for the ending and I failed miserably. I know it was me who said I was okay with fluff, but I never said I was good at it. -sowwy- 
> 
> On the note of things I failed, I proved myself once again incapable of keeping things light and strictly smutty when required. I got the feeling my hand kinda _slipped_ when I was trying to restrain myself from throwing a bit (too much) of angst in the mix. I master the art of making good resolutions and then shamelessly ignoring them in favour of letting my angst-thirsty mind wander off freely *adds quirky face*
> 
> Thanks to [wholeheartedlylouis](http://wholeheartedlylouis.tumblr.com/) for the beta and for being an apple pie and dealing with my whining crap. You have my undying love 4ever. All further mistakes are my own.
> 
>  _Disclaimer_ : This is fiction. This definitely happened.

Louis sometimes wishes he was able to love him without feeling like parts of himself were dying with every bruise he etches on the boy’s skin, or with every angry kiss he brushes against his lips. He wishes he could remember how to be himself without him, how it felt when there wasn’t the boy’s name carved inside his ribcage, embedded deeper under his skin.

Or maybe he doesn’t. Doesn’t want to get back to the time when there wasn’t an indent on his heart in the shape of Harry’s fingertips, prefers the frazzling fear of losing him than the possibility of never having had him.

It’s just.

Sometimes it gets too much.

The noise, the people, the lights. It‘s all around them, scaring never-faltering presence, slowing enclosing on them like a fog, making everything feel always at the edge, like it’s always a bit hard to breathe.

Harry doesn’t ask anymore, but sometimes Louis just knows. It can be from a text that’ll get deleted as soon as it’s read, or a whisper lost to the screaming crowd, maybe not even meant to come out. It can be a look that lingers for a bit too long, a tremble of Harry’s lips or fingertips that brush against Louis’ skin in the wrong way.

Louis just knows.

And tonight, Louis thinks, tonight it feels like it’s him who needs it, more than Harry. Because Louis is used to be scrutinized and judged, used to the harsh words and disappointed eyes. But since this bloody _weed gate,_ or however the fuck the fans started to call it, happened, Louis’s been feeling like they were tearing his chest open and categorizing every pulsing vein again, and again one more time like it has already happened so many times before he’s afraid to count.

And the thought scares him, always, because there’ll be thousands of eyes on them tomorrow, and he hasn’t done this with Harry in a while, much less in a shitty hotel room, but he doesn’t have the restraint for it.

Not tonight.

He can’t imagine going slow and easy, not now, not when it feels like his skin is stretched too tight from everything he’s trying to hold in, heart knocking inside his ribcage with each beat and his cock pulsing in time with it.

He wants Harry, wide-eyed and straining for it, as desperate as Louis is. As greedy.

And that’s why Louis has Harry down to his knees on the cold pavement of their messy hotel room, discarded clothes littered around his bare feet, wrists tied up behind his back and swollen lips stretched out around Louis’ dick.

It’s a sight Louis doesn’t think he will ever get used to, the warmth of Harry’s crimson mouth as he sinks down, down to swallow him all, how deep he can take it like he can never have enough of Louis’ cock, not even when he’s literally choking on it.

Louis doesn’t even remember how they got to this point tonight. He thinks it might all have to do with how Harry’s fingers curled around his wrist, firm pressure against his pulse point, as they walked through the parking lot just outside the venue. To how, once back in their room, after stepping out of the shower with a towel barely secured around his waist, he saw Harry already knelt on the floor with his head bowed down and hands lazily resting against his lower back, waiting, exactly as Louis knew he would.

This is one of their things; communicating without saying anything at all, when words fail and the silence says more than anything else could. When they know what the other one needs, and always give it to him.

Louis momentarily pulls Harry off his dick, tugging harshly at his now too long and mussed hair, because he always gets so greedy when he has a cock in his mouth, almost desperate, just to make sure Harry is still with him, and not already off somewhere else.

It will never seize to amaze Louis how fast and easily it is for Harry to fall into his headspace, to give up all his resistances and let Louis have all the control he so easily gives up. To switch off his head and just not _think_.

He can’t pinpoint when it started, how it happened. When the need to strip away everything; the words, the need to push each other further and take each other in ways they’d never done before became almost necessary, essential. When all that is left is the two of them, just feeling each other, and nothing more.

And it doesn’t matter how many times he can make Harry come, or how incredible it is every time.

It’s Harry, who needs to lose control. It’s, for once, to allow someone to leave him bare and exposed but completely at ease and loved, not to have to worry how many cracks they can see, pointing out all the ones that can’t be fixed. To have someone who kisses every scar and fill the clefts running down his bones when everything gets too much, when the light is too harsh and sleep doesn’t come.

Someone who is Louis, Louis and always Louis.

Because everything has always been _Louis_.

And it’s Louis who, instead, needs to take all that control, to have for those few hours the stupid illusion that Harry is his, and his only, to know he has the power to tear him apart so easily and effortlessly and yet he never does, always so careful to push him just at the edge of his limits and then bring him back before he can break. To be able to make all those walls he builds up crumble, because he knows Harry can see all the cracks of all the smiles that don’t reach his eyes and the signs of exhaustion riddling his body that he so hard tries to hide.

It’s knowing the boundaries, how far they can push them, just to make it feel more real, more palpable.

Harry’s eyes are completely black now, just a phantom of pale green pooled in a little sliver around his dilated pupils, and he looks dazed, spaced-out, already wrecked. Louis moves a hand to Harry’s face, rubs the pad of his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip and spreads the moisture of precome and saliva across Harry’s bottom lips and then feeds his slick fingers to Harry, who teasingly laps at them to then take them all inside his mouth till the last knuckles.

“Fuck Harry,” Louis moans, pushing his fingers deeper, pressing just past Harry’s gag reflex. Harry chokes lightly on them, but doesn’t pull off, stays there, with his bright eyes staring up at Louis like there’s no other place he’d rather be than here.

He gently withdraws his hand out of Harry’s mouth and presses lightly against his bottom lip and drags it down, releasing the plush skin with this ridiculous pop. Harry’s eyes waver close, whispers something that sounds like Louis’ name just as Louis fists lazily his other hand around his cock, and playfully slaps it against Harry’s lips, then against his tongue once Harry flattens it out of his mouth. Louis teasingly feeds his dick to Harry, pushing it deeper down his throat, loving when Harry’s eyes flutter close at the strain of keeping him there, and then out again, just to see Harry’s mouth following it like he’s starving for being choked just once more.

Louis lets go of his cock at last, wipes a tear away from Harry’s' temple where they've been tracking back into his hair as he stares up. Harry’s tongue gently darts out to lap at Louis’ dick, taking just the head inside his mouth and sucking at it meticulously.

Louis loves it, the way Harry can drive him mad, can make him want to thrust into his mouth until they’re both gagging for it, coming from it. And Harry likes it too, hums happily as he swirls his tongue around Louis and pulls off a bit to lick at the slit.

Louis can’t help it when his hands move to thread through Harry’s messy hair, yanking just hard enough to make Harry moan around him once more. His eyes flutter open to blink up at Louis, his mouth full and nostrils flaring. The red in his face has spread down over his neck and Louis can see it creep toward his collarbones above the swallows staining his skin. Louis rocks him back and then down again on his cock, and then pushes him farther, past the point where Harry makes a choked sound in his throat, until he starts to push back on Louis's hand with his own head.

He stills his movements a moment more, listening to Harry breathing through his nose, lips tight near the base of Louis's cock. He gags but doesn't stop, not even when Louis pulls him off and pushes him down again, digging his fingers even tighter in Harry's hair as he moves him faster, trying not to buck forward every time he forces Harry down.

And Harry lets Louis use him, lets Louis fuck his mouth until he can’t take it anymore, would probably let Louis shatter him into a million little pieces and put him back together using nothing but his tongue.

Louis buries himself one last time inside Harry’s mouth, keeping him there till he can feel Harry’s throat spasming and clenching impossibly tight around him. He finally lets go of Harry, who slowly draws off with a wet and squelching sound, thin threads of saliva stretching from Louis’ dick to his mouth, snapping when Harry deliberately slowly wipes his tongue over his lips, spreading the mess of saliva all over them with a tiny smirk that makes Louis’ hands tingle.

It shouldn't be beautiful, seeing Harry’s face being a mess of spit and sweat, redness staining his cheeks and the long column of his neck, but Louis is dazed by it all, can’t tear his eyes away from how the weak moonlight is dripping down the hollows of his throat and pooling in the crevices of his collarbones. He wants to trail his tongue along the hard lines of his jaw, to lick the opalescent stardust off of his naked torso, marred with ink and love bites Louis etched there the night before.

And so he does, slowly sinks down in front of him and brushes his tongue over every inch of flushed skin, leaves a bite just below Harry’s ear only to hear his breath hitch in his throat. He moves both hands to Harry’s jaw, gently raises his head so he can look at him, can get lost in the liquid black pooled in his eyes, and kisses him.

He kisses him and thinks Harry doesn’t know what he does to him.

Doesn’t know what he does to him when he looks at Louis like this. Like he’s something beautiful, something he has to touch like he’s afraid he could break. What he does to Louis when in the morning he shuffles sleepily back in their room with their breakfast and sees Harry lying against the pillows and crumpled bed sheets, spreading his legs like he’s been paid to do it, when he lifts his arms up to hook his hands around the metal frame of the headboard, looking up at Louis through half-lidded eyes, lazy smirk twisting his lips.

Doesn’t know what he does to Louis when he lets him stain his skin with bruises and engrave his name on his hips, red indents in the shape of his impatient hands. When he chases the taste of black tea off Louis’s mouth and kisses him like he wants to taste only himself on Louis’ tongue and nothing else.

He sucks Harry’s bottom lip inside his mouth, bites hard enough to draw blood, and then lets the kiss turn gentle, lips barely brushing against one another.

It reminds him of soft kisses that tasted like innocence and cold winters, reminds him of two boys discovering each other’s body under the covers of their X factor house’s bunk, of messy and quick handjobs when they were too young to even know what they were doing.

Of a boy who has always had this way of loving him so gently. Always so bloody gently.

He licks inside Harry’s mouth once more, kisses the tip of his nose and, “Get on the bed, hands and knees,” Louis commands then, while he stands up and strips down of his jeans, throwing them carelessly on the floor somewhere in the room.

Harry crawls on the bed, and it’s when it gets like this, when there is a lust and want bigger than anything you could ever imagine to feel, when there is an exasperation pooling harshly at the pits of their stomach, when it’s never enough, always a need for more, more and more, that Harry gets gracious, that he moves delicately like he has a purpose. And he crawls on the bed, face shoved against the mattress and bum perched in the air, hands tightly tied up behind his back and just waits.

And Louis knows there really is no need to tie him up, because Harry would keep his hands there anyway, always so submissive when he gets like this, when he needs to feel helpless and desperate. But Louis loves the deep welts carving Harry’s wrists, the lacerated skin running around them, to see how Harry’s eyes space out every time he looks at them, the tremor of his lips when Louis kisses along the bruised flesh at night when darkness slips down the walls of their room and the edges of their bodies blur with it all.

Louis reels with the immensity of what he's been entrusted, with the immensity of the unadulterated love that bursts inside his ribcage when his boy looks at him like he’s everything, like no matter how many people there are in a room, Louis is the only thing he can see.

His whole hand smoothes down the line of Harry’s spine, over his bum and down the back of his thigh, making him gasp and jolt slightly.

Louis loves how sensitive Harry is, how his muscles tense each time Louis strokes the innards of his thighs. He squirms restlessly beneath Louis as he twists his hand, keeping his palm on Harry’s abdomen as his fingers curve over his pubic bone to rest idly between his legs.

He repeats the same movements on the other side, causing Harry to choke out a little sob, needy and impatient for what is to come. Louis does it again on both sides while Harry struggles to keep his eyes open. Nothing but air moves in the room as he runs his middle finger between Harry’s crack, down until he can feel how loose he already is. Moving his finger in slow circles against him and listening to his breathing change and the small whimpers that fall from his lips.

"Lower to your forearms," he directs and Harry brings his upper body down slowly, resting on his arms with his ass still perched. Louis’ hands are growing greedier as he squeezes his ass in his palm and bites lightly into the skin of Harry’s hips. 

"Oh shit," Harry gasps, dropping his head into the duvet. 

"What do you want, Harry?" he asks, so calm, always so calm even when he feels like he could fall apart at any moment.

"Fuck, spank me." 

"How hard?"

“ _Please_ ,” Harry moans out in lieu of an answer, and Louis digs his fingers harder into his skin.

“Answer me, Harry,” and he doesn’t mean to sound harsh, just knows sometimes Harry needs to be reminded where he stands right now.

"Hard— _fuck_. Hard, Lou," he gasps out as he grips the duvet in his fingers when he feels Louis’ tongue drag slowly across the skin of his cheek, right where he knows he’ll hit.

And that’s what makes their love different. Their love is pure trust. Their love is knowing where Louis is going to strike, and knowing that he’d always kiss away the burn afterwards. Their love is dark and light and everything all at once, consuming and all-compassing with its intensity. 

With Harry, it’s as if all reason and thought escape him. He doesn’t have to worry or second guess himself. He doesn’t wonder if his darkest desires are too dark. He has no walls, no limits, nothing holding him back. It is pure freedom. He feels his pleasure in the tips of his fingers. He feels it vibrating in his lips when Harry kisses him just that little bit harder, that little bit more desperately.

A pure sexual connection that is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. A connection bonded by how strongly he feels for this clumsy boy knelt in front of him, who tiptoed inside his life and sunk so deep between each ribs, and how much this boy trusts him in return.

Louis' hand lands sharp on Harry's ass, and the room falls silent.

Another blow comes to Harry’s skin shortly afterward, this time harder than before and then he doesn't stop. He keeps spanking down onto Harry's ass, a hand slipping onto Harry's hip to hold him still. Everything about it heightens his arousal; the sound, the sting on his hand, the broken noises coming from Harry as he spasms and writhes on the duvet, struggling as he tries to stifle the moans tempted to be let out. 

Louis keeps going until he can't feel his hand and Harry is whimpering with every spanking. Harry feels warm all over, the heat from his ass matching the heat in Louis' hand. He rubs the flat of it across Harry's ass, making him give up little choked noises when he presses against the angry red parts.

“Look how red you're turning, Haz, it's beautiful.” And it is, the way that Harry gets pinker with every slap from Louis' hand, warming him up to take more, always more.

Louis slows the spanks down, varying from upper thigh, to the crease between Harry's ass cheeks. “You're being so good for me, doll,” he croons, and his hand strikes again, and he keeps his hand there and then _squeezes_ , digs his fingers into the sore skin so that Harry’s breath catches. He grips Harry’s other cheek and spreads them until he can see the pink dusting over his hole, so pretty and loose.

When the tip of his tongue first leaves a little lick, Harry whimpers so loud Louis fears someone outside their room might hear them. But he just can’t bring himself to care, never truly has before, so after the first lick Louis doesn’t seem to be able to stop, his tongue lapping with a restless and messy rhythm at Harry’s clenching hole, parting the soft and warm flesh of Harry’s arse cheeks further more with his hands, kneading and squeezing them till the lovely shade of red turns almost white.

“So good for me. Taking it so well, sweetheart,” he praises, again and again, knows that Harry needs to hear it, needs to know he’s being good for Louis.

When Harry starts to move his hips in tentative circles against Louis’s tongue, Louis pushes a finger inside, still licking around it and wetting the sensitive skin of the rim with each brush of his tongue.

“Oh, god Harry, you're so warm inside,” Louis moans out and this is so good, so good it seems surreal, and Louis wants to live in this moment forever, with the night sky stretching above this too loud and hot town in the States and just Louis and Harry and no one else.

Louis moves his finger, in and out, with slow, yet deep movements, basking in the whimpers Harry is letting out softly, getting lost in the blackness of the room.

"Fuck," Harry moans, keeping his voice hushed as best as he can.

"Does that feel good, Haz?" Louis asks.

"Feels so good! Add another, Lou, please!" And Louis does.

He adds a second finger, pushing deeper and crooking them to rub against Harry’s prostate, and then adds another, loving the feeling of Harry’s entrance clenching around them and then getting loose again when Louis trails kisses all around.

When he feels Harry nearing his orgasm, the straining flesh of his thighs quiver just a bit and his breathing is getting erratic, he pulls his fingers out, putting his hands back on each cheek and parting them so he can look at the shiny and wet rim, gaping and squeezing around nothing. It looks so beautiful with the feeble starlight washing in through the window, with frazzled shadows painting the bruised skin.

Louis’ hands cup his backside, squeezing the red flesh beneath his palms just one more time, before sliding downwards, so tantalisingly slowly, along Harry’s back, making sure that he touches each area of bare skin, until his fingertips are in Harry’s hair and gently massaging his scalp. Harry relaxes his head back against his touch, sighing in quiet relief.

  
"I’m going to blindfold you," he murmurs, and grips his hair and yanks his head up, swallowing the pained intake of breath with his mouth in a bruising kiss.

Louis digs through his bag, fishes out the lube and their silk foulard, still smeared with the crimson lipstick they used the last time they were home, and slowly hovers it over Harry’s eyes and ties it behind his head, while he trails soft kisses on his shoulders, along the juncture of his neck.

Still ascending, Louis caresses the skin at the base of his neck, and then either side of his jugular, until his fingertips are running along his sculpted jaw. He slides his palm from the base of Harry’s spine to the nape of his neck, applying pressure as he pushes Harry back down again into the same position he previously was, holding on to the frame of the bed with the other hand.

He uncaps the almost finished bottle of lube, coats his fingers carefully and pushes four inside till the last knuckles, and it’s not enough, not for Harry, who, as soon as Louis crooks his fingers, starts to grind his hips against them, trying to push them even deeper than they already are.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis admonishes, brushing his fingertips against Harry’s prostate, again and again like he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. Just when he feels Harry at the verge of coming again, he slows down his movements to an almost stop, just pressing his fingertips against his spot, not even moving again.

“Please -- please Lou,” Harry chokes out, and his voice is gone. It's barely a crackle, registering so deep right now. He tries to pull out his fingers, but has to bite off a moan when Harry’s muscles roll and waver around his fingers, trying to draw him in and keep him there. He uses the other hand to pinch Harry’s backside, an action that works as a warning just as Louis wanted it to, and finally pulls his fingers out and wipes them down Harry's ass, watching it shine.

Louis takes hold of his cock, and he’s almost tempted to just stroke it against Harry’s hole, brush it up and down his crack just to make him wait that little bit longer, to make him get that little bit more desperate. But there is a patience he can’t really bring himself to muster, a need so deep within him that he can’t control anymore, so with a steady push until his thighs are where Harry's ass is spank warm, burning from what Louis has done to him, he buries himself inside Harry, and then pauses.

“Breathe,” Louis orders, or maybe just reminds, and Harry gasps in a breath as Louis tentatively moves his hips just that bit deeper, reeling in the warmth of Harry’s hole, still loose from all the prep and yet still so tight.

“You-- _god_. Love your cock, Lou.” Harry moans, like he’s not even aware of what he’s saying anymore.

Louis grabs Harry’s hip with a hand, moving the other to brush against the still red skin of his arse. He presses on the bruise he left this morning on the soft skin of his lower back, when he was too tired to do anything more than lazily suck on Harry’s skin while he was still sleepily snoring against the pillow. Harry shudders out a whimper at the feeling, closing his eyes briefly.

Louis lowers himself so he’s almost flushed against Harry’s back, immediately attaching his mouth to Harry’s neck. Everything is so much tighter and the pressure against Louis’ dick is maddening. Louis goes slow to begin with, making sure that Harry can feel the entire length of his cock moving inside of him, working his muscles into a tight frenzy. But as the muscles in his arms begin to strain and his breathing deepens, he straightens up and picks up his pace, thrusting into Harry with such force that he almost loses his breath. Harry cries out as friction burns between his skin and the sheets as Louis’s hips knocked against the backs of Harry’s and he pushes him further and further up the bed.

"So good sweetheart. Taking my cock so well."

Louis moves both hands around Harry's hips as he snaps into him, hearing Harry's tearful whimpers every time a particular turn of his hips hits a spot on Harry's ass. Louis slides one hand down Harry's back into his hair where he wraps it around his fingers and tugs at it, making Harry moan for him.

“Lou,” Harry chokes out, and Louis just grabs his hips harder when Harry tries to squirm away, holds him still and fucks in, and in, and in, until Harry is gasping and slapping a palm against the bed before clawing at the sheets.

“Harder,” Harry breathes, pulling his lip between his teeth and Louis feels a wave of annoyance rushing through his veins, knowing Harry is aware he’s not allowed to make any sort of request, not when they are like this, far too deep to put any coherent thoughts in what they are doing.

  
His hand comes down with a harsh slap, leaving an intense burning across Harry’s skin. Harry breathing is ragged as Louis tenderly kneads the raw flesh between the blows that follow, caressing him with his palm and fingertips after each of them.

  
“More?” he asks, and each time his hand hits Harry’s skin, his muscles clenches and Louis’ arousal swells. He has to rake his fingernails down Harry's ass to prevent from coming right there on the spot.

  
“Yes,” Harry manages, not daring to say anything more this time.

Louis resumes his previous quick path with his hips, pushing harder, deeper. They’re knocking the bed against the wall and Louis can barely hear the thump-thump-thump over the sound of Harry’s sobs and short, gaspy whines. Harry’s teeth are digging into his own arm, a bright spark of pain to contrast the dull ache spreading through the rest of his body, and he’s moaning uncontrollably, low and steady, like he’s hurting just the same as Louis. Like he needs it just as badly.

Harry’s crying, begging in half-formed words that may or may not make any sense as he thrashes, hips in constant motion, trying to get any friction he can on his neglected cock. Louis buries himself inside Harry so hard his breath is knocked the fuck out of his lungs, holds himself there till Harry arches back into it, pleading, “Oh, god, Louis. Louis make me come, _please_.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis admonishes, pressing hard with his fingertips against Harry’s red skin.

“Lou please. Fuck--I need to come, I need—“

Louis pulls off. “‘M gonna gag you now,” he spits out, and his tone is angry, scolding, because Harry knows the rules, knows how far he can go before Louis snaps.

The gag ball is buried under tons of clothes at the bottom of Louis’ bag, and he feels himself losing it for real, angry and frustrated that he’s slowly losing the grasp on the situation.

He carefully secures the gag ball behind Harry’s head, making sure it’s not too tight or cutting on his cheek. He doesn’t even give Harry time before he swings back and down again straight onto Harry's ass, starting to turn purple from the bruising, and soon the room is falling silent again. The only sounds in the air are the smacks from Louis’ hand and little hitched breaths that Harry lets out when they fall. Louis puts his aching hand on Harry’s lower back strokes a finger across the crease where Harry's ass meets his thigh, hearing a muffled sob fall from Harry at the light touch in this sensitive spot.

Harry has a sheen of sweat across his entire body, the curls at the nape of his neck and at his hairline damp. Louis digs a hand in Harry's hair and pulls his head back, to get a good look at Harry's face and _fuck_.

Fuck, Harry is so bloody beautiful, looking so vulnerable and powerless beneath him, stripped bare of all self-possession. His eyes are glassy and wet with tears. He's blotchy from crying and the red on his face matches the red on his ass and the red of his pretty lips stretched obscenely around the ball inside his mouth.

He breathes in the smell of Harry’s skin, the sweat mingling with traces of his cologne. He lets it inebriate his lungs, fill up all the parts of himself he feels like he’s lost, and lets go of Harry’s head.

“Fuck, I love you so much baby,” he breathes out, and when he reaches out his tongue across Harry's hole, Harry mewls and squirms against him as he keeps lapping at the pink puckered skin, still a little bit gaping.

He doesn’t even know how long it goes on like this; Louis alternating between thrusting his cock hard into Harry, fingering him further open with four and sometimes five of his fingers, and then lazily fucking his loose and abused hole with his tongue till he can feel him at the edge of a yet another orgasm and then stopping, letting it slowly fade away with soft touches of his tongue and the press of his fingertips down his spine, along the gentle curves of his hips. It’s maddening, the need to come almost unbearable but it seems like he can’t stop, like he can’t snap out his bubble of anger and just let it go, let the desperation take over.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard, babe, you’re so good. Being so good for me, even when you’re being bad-- wanna make a mess of you,” Louis rambles as he enters him once again, shoves his cock so deep inside him he feels almost breathless.

And it might have been the rush of blood in his head, the lust and want clouding his mind, but he doesn’t register it the first time, probably not even the second. And just once he realizes that Harry’s gone almost slack beneath him, that Louis hears the choked out word.

“R—rosso.”

The world stops. The noises come rushing back at his ears, his vision gets back into focus, but everything seems just at the edge of crumbling into pieces.

“No,” he almost sobs, “no, no, no _, fuck_ , Harry, no,” and he doesn’t even care how little his voice sounds, how scared and broken, because this wasn’t fucking meant to happen. Harry wasn’t meant to use their safewords, and in particular not this one.

He moves fastly to untie both the gag ball and the scarf from around Harry’s head, and now that his mouth is free, the whimpers seem so loud, echoing so deep inside Louis’ ribcage, resonating against each bone, and it hurts. It fucking hurts that he so carelessly let this happen, that he wasn’t careful enough to control himself and see the signs that this was getting much more than Harry could handle.

He delicately unties the handkerchief around Harry’s wrists, and this time the red grooves running around them make Louis‘ stomach twist and he almost feels sick, feels like he tore apart something so beautiful and delicate, something precious he was entrusted to handle with caution and love.

“Fuck--Harry, I’m so sorry. So _fucking_ sorry,” he whispers, and he wants to panic, to scream and smash something against the wall, but Harry needs him, and he doesn’t have the time to be selfish anymore, so he takes Harry’s hands and gently lies him down the bed, kisses chastely his swollen lips and goes to fetch a damp cloth to clean him up.

Louis feels like he’s moving on auto-pilot, doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he brushes the cloth against Harry’s temples and wills his hands to stop trembling. Harry hasn’t stopped crying, and the sounds are getting even louder and more broken than Louis can handle.

He holds Harry tight and lets him cry, knows he needs to let it out, to work his mind back into focus, and mumbles reassuring nonsense at him, apologising over and over and telling Harry how much he loves him until Harry calms down a little. His breathing is slowly easing, muscles relaxing with each kind word falling from Louis’ mouth. But then—

"Why did you do that? You can't do that," Harry says, urgent now.

“I know babe. Fuck—I’m an asshole, I’m sorry.”

Harry sniffs, wipes a hand below his nose and sniffs once more. “No you are not,” he breathes out. “Just—don't. Don’t be angry at me, _please_." A teardrop streams slowly down his cheek, pools in the corner of Harry’s mouth, and Louis feels his heart break further apart inside his chest. “I disappointed you.”

Louis lets out a gasp. He takes Harry’s head between his still shivering hands and fixes Harry with a shocked and panicked look. “No babe,” he rushes out, and of course Harry freaked out for this, for fear that he might have seriously upset Louis, the he wasn’t good enough to please him. “I wasn’t angry at you, I’m sorry if I let you think that,” he continues, nuzzling to kiss Harry's hair again, hugging him closer. "You were so good Haz, I swear. Always so good to me."

Louis leans down, brushes a kiss to Harry's cheek and feels the salty aftertaste of his drying-up tears rolling across his tongue, against the roof of his mouth, and kisses him again.

And again and again and again.

-

When Louis makes love to Harry that night, it’s with gentleness and caution. It’s with delicacy and sweetness, slow movements of Louis’ hips against Harry’s, small kisses brushed against Harry’s wrists, down his neck.

He wants to take it all and ingrain it into every fiber of his body—the way Harry looks when he moans, the way he feels, the way one of his hands comes up to grasp at Louis’ bicep tightly, _so_ tightly till it leaves bruises that won't fade for _weeks_. Bruises that even when they're gone, will hide just beneath his skin, aching in the most wonderful way.

When Harry comes, Louis savours every detail of it. The way his body pulses and clenches around him. The warmth that erupts around them. How his stomach always quivers and his hands pull into tight fists or cling to him desperately. How beautifully lost he’s become as his neck arches back and his lips part. How he loses control and gives everything to him in those moments. How he feels the way Harry says his name in every part of his body.

Louis slot their hands together, fingers filling up a space much bigger than their bodies allow, and a smile tugs the corners of Harry's mouth, bright and warm like the most blinding star.

Louis fits himself behind him, snuggles closer to kiss the freckles resting on his skin, and falls asleep, just like that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh, this is for Palo. because everything is always for Palo. KAWAAAAIII!!!


End file.
